duende

Lorca handed Dylan an Andalusian sunset
the sunset was in the shape of a guitar
and the guitar played gypsy ballads

Lorca handed Dylan a sheet of paper
the words he had written spoke of lovers
and the mountains on which they died

Lorca handed Dylan a host of names
a cast of characters for him to develop
and places where they would unravel

Lorca handed Dylan beauty in sadness
the smell of blood and soil and life
and the heartache between every line

that you are

your face
we laugh so hard
your black mascara runs
like liquorice laces
or a tribal tattoo

hello you
let me clean you up
a tissue a tissue
we fall to wiping
revealing your skin

how I love your face
full moon with starlet eyes
open as a window
on a breezy day
without a frown

and not a care in the world
unlike me the worrier
carrying the weight of death
on my shoulders
no hero am I

no
no hero am I
despite what you say
I am only doing what little I can
keeping you laughing

in the face of everything
the tubes the treatments
the surgery the scars
I couldn’t be you
brave beauty

that you are

tellurian

I have watched
as you trampled growing seeds
and poured scorn on these summer days
I have watched
as your shadow grew and cast a darkness
like a deepening sorrow over beauty
I have watched
as you laughed in the face of happiness
with a heinous grin of self-satisfaction
I have watched
as you tried to destroy all that you created
or claimed to have loved in the name of what?
I have watched
as many have cried and I am not sure why
such bitterness fills your heart
I have watched
as my wrists have bled the last vestiges
of hope and forgiveness
I have watched
but I can watch no more as the sun sets
on this last earthly hour